Gravity
by Chevira Lowe
Summary: (More like PG-15, oy) ShikamaruxTemari. Abundant fluff and near-smut. Because it's not how you win, it's how you play the game.


Gravity

AN: Written in a very strange style, and at 6:30 in the morning, no less. Unedited, and written in a little under half an hour. Uh, yay for random almost!smut.

Criticism?

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"Well? Aren't you going to acknowledge that I'm here?" Hands on her hips, mouth a thin line. Standing like she owns the world, smirking like she knows it, too. Standing, smirking, winning, it's all the same to her. Doesn't bother to act coy with him because she knows the steps of their game so well. Knows she's playing white. Sets the first piece and waits for his counterattack. Plans ten, twenty moves ahead. Hopes she can beat him at the game someday.

Grins lazily up at her as he kicks his feet off his desk and folds his arms. Smiling, like she is, but his isn't quite so feral. "Nope. I figured you'd say something when it got troublesome enough. I wasn't going to bother talking first." Heard she breezed into town three days ago and he hadn't expected her before today, because he never really expected her. Looked forward to her visits and pretended he didn't care. Knew differently, because the wise man knows himself, and Shikamaru has never been a fool.

Sun-hardened curves and desert-harsh features, tanned and dry and hot like an arid wind. Smells like sweat and musk, hardly female. Breasts small enough that he can cup them in his hands and thighs hard enough that he can be grateful for his stamina. Beautiful but not, perfect but not, Temari and nothing else. Waits for her to come to him when she's bored, pretends that he's bored too, and they fall to the nearest available surface and they have sex and pretend that's not the afterglow that makes them hold each other afterwards. Post-traumatic-sex-syndrome, she's labeled it in her no-nonsense manner. Secretly, he agrees. But he wouldn't hand her such an easy victory.

"Been in town for a while." Testing him, always testing him, circling like a hungry wolf beyond a circle of fire, looking for a weakness, a vulnerability. Probably won't find it, as he's upped the seriousness of the game from amateur to expert because it wouldn't do to underestimate her. Tilts his head and yawns and scratches an itch near his forehead.

"Oh?" Testing her back. Saying 'Hey, I don't care,' and knowing she'll see right through it. A sacrificial play, more for an end result than a quick gratification.

"I was wondering if you'd come see me, actually." Accusatory, her dark blue-green eyes flash. Tries not to compare her eyes to an ocean, because that's exceedingly troublesome. Does it anyways and feels a little guilty. Notes that they're deep like an ocean, and hold secrets like an ocean, and are deadly and dangerous and hard like an ocean.

"Too troublesome. I knew you'd come." Lazily, so lazily. Placing a pawn and abandoning it mid-field, hopping back like a crow to survey a nest of treasures. Knows she'll take the bait. Doesn't count on it, but knows anyways.

Arms folded under her small breasts, standing hipshot. Tilts her head to one side and he notes the play of shadows (always the shadows) across the harsh planes of her face. Wants to caress her skin, wants to possess her soul. Wonders when he'd stopped liking girls and started liking women. Realizes that since he met her, he wouldn't have settled for anything but. Looks at her as she tilts her chin higher and speaks, "If you say 'troublesome' one more time, I'm…I'm gonna…" Leans closer. Looks menacing. _Growls _at him.

"You're gonna what?" Eyebrow quirk. Showing interest, but not too much. Leafs through papers on his desk idly, like she's boring him, even though she's not. Smirks at her angry expression.

"Do _something." _She breathes vehemently. Like she knows that's so much of a threat. 'Somethings' isn't a threat, not with them, because 'somethings' could very well equate a little extracurricular activity in the bedroom. Or the bathroom, or on the roof or in the cellar or wherever she decides to capture him next.

"Oh?" Stops leafing through papers. Pauses and deigns grant her a moment of his precious attention. Rubs at a new scar just under his left eye.

"Yes." Proudly, like a young filly, letting fly with her heels in the midst of the pasture of life. Always reminded him of a horse, with her wild free spirit and her unbreakable will and her unconquerable sense of self. Knows he'd hate to see her broken, and vows to himself to never let it happen. Knows also that she's hardly fragile and that she'd hurt him if he knew, but sees no harm in protecting her anyways.

"…You're being…" Pauses; she holds her breath, her hand flicks unconsciously towards her fan as he exhales. The word is carried along on his exhalation and sounds like sort of a sigh. "Difficult." Raises both eyebrows. Goads her to a checkmate.

Eyes narrowed. Lips pursed. Leans closer and jerks him to his feet, one hand wrapped in his vest, the other in his hair. Kisses him, and he kisses back, and he realizes that she tastes like oranges, spices and citrus, entirely Temari. Lips and teeth and tongue and hot, sweet breath and suddenly his knees are weak and he doesn't want to remember that he has to breathe to stay alive. Is not relieved when she pulls away and steps back. Is less relieved when she seems more or less unaffected, though she's liking her lips like a lioness come from a kill.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Shikamaru, I'm always difficult. Now, I heard you had a report for me?" Hands splayed out on his desk, sifting through papers that are none of her business. Angles are unkind, because he can see down her shirt and she's not discouraging it. Sees the dusky areole of one nipple and that scar across her chest that she'd received too many years ago to count. Wants to kiss her again, but when he tries for it, she bats him furiously away and glares. "Business first."

Makes of her a phantom lover instead. Caresses her in his mind, where she can't find him. Traces the outline of her waist, her hip, lets his hands wander across one well-muscled thigh. Kisses her and it's sweeter than candy and softer than silk, and when he returns to reality, she's eyeing him with a knowing little smirk.

Leans down, and she plants one hand against his chest and trails down, down, and he's shifting uncomfortably in his chair because her roving hands are entirely too bold, and then she presses her lips to his, draws his lower lip into her mouth and sucks on it, never breaking eye contact. Feels the rushing of blood to areas other than his brain and figures this is how she plans on winning.

Wonders if he should point out that's cheating.

"Fifteen percent of revenues are being diverted to relief funds for Sunagakure," murmured softly, still against his lips, because she plays with politics like she plays with fire. Considers that keeping her around while he does paperwork isn't that bad an idea, if she could make every experience like this. "In return, we're granting you access to three of our city's forbidden scrolls, for which you can thank _me_, personally." Gladly, on his knees, if she'd allow it, which she would. "Both sides think it's an uneven trade. What do you have to say about it?"

Isn't really thinking much of anything. Her hands are under his shirt and up against his nipples and he's fairly sure that women should not be allowed to _do _that with their nimble fingers, and he's entirely too speechless as she straddles him in his chair, long, firm legs pressed against either of his thighs.

Knows that he can never quite win on this turf. Fights back anyways. Pulls back and away and ghosts his lips past her jaw line and down her throat, takes his time around the junction between neck and shoulder because she's exquisitely sensitive there. Laps gently at the skin and grazes his teeth across it and is pleased to hear her moan. Glad she's not the only one with artillery on this battlefield. Slips one hand up her shirt and one thumb across one breast and her sharp intake of breath brings him to redouble his efforts.

Stops what she's doing just to grab both his hands and slam them over his head, to the wall against which she'd pushed him and his chair just moments before. Glares down at him like he's a child after forbidden fruit. Makes a sort of moue with her mouth and then a vicious smirk. "Didn't I tell you business first? Answer the question, bastard."

Thinks fuzzily of what she'd asked. Seems to recall her wanting his opinion. "I think it's a good idea," murmured offhandedly, as he has no clue what he's talking about. "Troublesome, though."

Smiles. Smiles and kisses him again, the play of her tongue over his lips leaves him speechless and anxious for more. "Checkmate, Shikamaru." Knows he could mutter something about oranges, and strange cinnamon spice, but doesn't think that would make much sense to her. Whines as she does it again, slower and far more deliberately. Hates that her tongue is as clever as the rest of her.

Groans. Knows she's won. Doesn't care, he lets her win all the time anyways. Nuzzles the side of her neck and is rewarded by her releasing one of his hands. Just one. On even ground, now, he reaches for and settles his fingers against her hip, digging in hard when she rocks against him. Even fully clothed she sends electricity tingling through his nerves like fire, and he's not about to start complaining. Contemplates the intricacies of losing clothing, but she's already leagues ahead of him. Her shirt has been discarded over one shoulder, and he studies the strange newness of her. Always her body is as familiar as it is foreign. New scars, here and there, etched across her skin like an artisan's brush over canvas. Wants to trace each one and ask how it was acquired, but knows she'd just smirk and silence him.

"I want…" began with his own brand of good intentions, surely. Abandoned for the same. Soft and frantic, he finds her mouth and makes a play at acquiring the territory. Combat has never tasted so sweet, nor has surrender.

"_This," _finished because she finishes everything he starts and can't complete. Forgets that she's holding his other hand and lets him go, so he can fumble clumsily at his shirt, because her oceanic eyes make him feel young and awkward and invincible again.

Victory is never as sweet given as it is earned. Words he's learned by heart. Words he's told Temari.

Words he's fairly sure she's come to understand.


End file.
